A struggle called life
by aigneadh
Summary: Heavy and angsty one-shots. Just to get things off my chest.
1. What Sarah said

**A 'doctor in the photo' shot.**

**Originally posted as a one shot in my 'The story in the songs' series, but since I want to keep that one light and fluffy...**

**Disclaimer: don't own the show or the song. **

_What Sarah said_

_by _

_'death cab for cutie'_

I unfolded the already wet paper one more time to check the address, and watched the old building in front of me. I didn't care it was raining, nor that I was getting wet. All I wanted was answers. I needed answers. I stepped out on the street, determined to get some, when I noticed the fluorescent marker in the middle of the street was broken. I bent down, and carefully ran my fingers over the crack, and in my heart, not my mind, I suddenly realized what had happened.

I didn't notice the lights of another car coming around the corner as the realization hit me. I didn't hear the sound of his horn, nor the screeching of his breaks until it was too late. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact.

"Bones!" I suddenly heard a familiar voice shout from across the street.

I smiled. He was there. He still cared. But he would be too late this time. And still, I smiled, because his voice would be the last thing I heard before I died.

But as I waited for the impact of the car to hit me, I was suddenly slammed down on the ground from the other direction. Confused I was still alive, I opened my eyes, only to widen them in terror at the sight in front of me.

Booth, mere inches from my side, his hand still resting on my back where he had pushed me out of the way. If I didn't know him so well, and knew he always had that crease between his temples, I might have thought he was asleep. But one look at him, and the car a few feet away, told me he was not.

"Booth!" I cried as I scrambled up and took him in my arms, desperate for him to answer.

But he didn't.

"Booth!" I cried again, but this time, it wasn't more than a sob.

And as I sat there, in the streaming rain, a dying Booth in my arms, waiting for the ambulance, I did something I never thought I would. I prayed. It didn't matter I didn't believe in God, because _he _did. It didn't matter that according to me, that if said God had existed he could have prevented this, because _he _wouldn't have wanted me to think that way. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All that mattered was his shallow breathing, and I was asking God for just a little more time.

_And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time_

_As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409_

_And I rationed my breathes as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today_

_As each descending peak of the LCD took you a little farther away from me_

Hannah was there as we arrived at the hospital. Reluctant, I let go of his hand, and stepped aside so she could follow him as far as she was allowed, accepting that was her place now, and not mine.

I just stood there, in the middle of the hallway as they wheeled my partner, my best friend, and I now realized, the love of my life away from me. I directed my gaze to the floor, my shoes, as the first tears started to spill.

After a few minutes I took a ragged breath as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started to call our closest friends. I didn't want to do this. I wanted to be there, with him. Why did I have to do this? Why couldn't I just follow him like I had always done before? Wasn't this case bad enough? Wasn't seeing my partner get hit by a car before my eyes bad enough? Wasn't realizing I loved him as he was together with another woman bad enough?

And although I wasn't with him in that room, I could feel him slipping away. Away from me.

_Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye_

_It stung like a violent wind that out memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds_

_But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all_

_And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself_

I sunk into a chair, my head falling into my hands as tears streamed down my face. I was vaguely aware of a nurse putting her hand on my shoulder and asking if there was anything I wanted, anything she could get me. I looked up, and eyed my surroundings. Plastic chairs and a table with old journals, a coffee machine and a water cooler. Nothing that I wanted was in that waiting room.

As I sat there, I tried to remember all the times we had been here before, Booth in the hospital, and still pulling through, and it irritated me I couldn't remember. More tears formed in my eyes as I realized there were so many things about our time together I couldn't remember.

And still, I could not make myself regret those times. They made me hurt now, more than if we had just stayed partners like we told everyone around us, but I could not regret the drinks or the late take-out, nor the feeling of his arms around me in another 'guy-hug'.

I looked up again. Cam, Angela, Hodgins, Sweets,… They were all there, eyes trained on the ground. Nobody spoke. I wondered if this was how they had sat right after when Booth was shot last year or during his brain surgery. I wouldn't know. This had not been my place then.

_'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room_

_Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news_

_And then the nurse comes round and everyone lift their heads_

_But I'm thinking of what Sarah said _

_that "Love is watching someone die"_

And as I stood and started to pace through the waiting room I was angry. Angry at him for taking that bullet for me so long ago. Angry at him for making me believe he was dead. Angry at him for taking that hit from the car now. Angry at him for being him and always wanting to be a hero. Angry at him for making me love him. Angry at me for never telling him. Broken, cause there might be a chance I would never have the chance to.

Suddenly the door of his room opened, and everyone's head snapped up as a nurse made her way to our little make-shift family in the waiting room. "I'm sorry." she said, and something in her eyes told me she really meant it. "But it's not looking good."

"I can't stay here." I suddenly heard myself say. But it was true, I couldn't. Again, I felt the nurse put her hand on my shoulder.

"Love is watching someone die." she said softly, misunderstanding me. She thought I didn't want to be here, in the hospital, while I didn't want to be here, in the waiting room. I wanted to be there with him, in his room, holding his hand, saying nonsense, like 'everything is going to be alright', even if I had no idea of knowing that.

_So who's going to watch you die?_

Suddenly I heard the door of his room open, and my head snapped up to see a crying Hannah storm out, an apologetic look on her face.

"I can't." was all she sobbed as she practically run for the exit.

There was no silent negotiation as I looked at my friends and colleagues around me. No agreement as I made my way to the room, 'cause they knew there was no stopping me. I silently stepped inside and took a deep breath before crossing the threshold. Wordlessly I made my way to the bed, took his hand in mine and silently sat down in the chair beside him.

"I'm so sorry Booth." I whispered, all previous anger left in the waiting room. "I'm…" I took another shuddering breath before I looked up again.

"I love you Booth" I suddenly said. There was no peak on the hart monitor, no silent cracking of his voice as he told me he loved me too. No soft squeeze of my hand or a thumb run across of it. Nothing to suggest he had heard me.

"I love you." I said again, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably as he still didn't respond in any way. And that was the moment I knew. The moment I knew the Seeley Booth I loved was no longer here.

_So who's going to watch you die?_

I looked around me. Padme was clutching Jared's hand, while Hodgins arms were so tightly clutched around my best friend, I wondered if she could stand on her own. Cam 's normal smiling and joking face was serious as she watched one of her oldest and strongest friends now looking so small and vulnerable. We had all agreed Parked shouldn't be here. He shouldn't see, remember his father like this. I took a shuddering breath before fixing my eyes on the bed in front of me as well.

His head was covered in white gauze, which still couldn't entirely hide the tubes draining a white fluid away from his brain. His tanned skin had gotten a grey shade, which was even worse around the tubes stuck inside his arms. A small tube disappeared inside his throat.

All I could see as I looked at the bed in front of me, were tubes and a shadow of a man I loved.

There was no sound of breathing. Only the screeching of a pump every time it went up and down. There was no sound of a steady heartbeat. Only the beeps of a life supporting hart monitor. There was no life. Only death.

The nurse I had seen so many times over the last two months stood silently next to the breathing machine. A slight nod from Jared, so small I would've missed it if I wasn't waiting for it, expecting it, made her turn and touch a few buttons, pull a few switches. More tears streamed down my face as I heard the monitor flat line before she killed that last switch too.

_So who's going to watch you die?_

That nightmare had been haunting me ever since Jared had told me the doctors were asking him about donating organs and killing the life support. That had been one week ago. Neither of us wanted to make that decision. Both of us knew the chance of Booth ever waking up again, was smaller than slim, and still, we could not just pull the plug. I was sitting next to his bed when Jared walked in. "Could I have a minute?" he asked me. I looked up, face blank. Without a word I stood and left the two brothers alone. I took a seat in the waiting room I now so despised only to look up as Jared exited Booth's room a few minutes later. It was obvious he had been crying. "Are you okay?" I asked him, though I knew none of us had been okay since the accident two months ago. He nodded. "I asked him what he wanted me to do." he said as he fell down on the seat beside me. "I know he wouldn't want to keep living like this, if this is what you call life. Possible brain damage, motor deficits, a wheelchair. And that is if he ever wakes up." I remained silent. I too knew Booth would not want that. "But I also told him I couldn't do it. I just can't." Jared sobbed beside me. I did not put my arm around his shoulders, or take his hand or give any word of comfort. I did nothing but cry silently beside him, because I knew what he meant; I felt what he was feeling.

When I heard my phone ring in the middle of the night, I closed my eyes before answering it, already knowing what the message would be. Booth had made his own choice. I guess, deep down, he had still been there to listen. And still, deep down, he had to be the hero.

**In memory of Erik Deschacht.**

**Happy 23rd** **birthday, Erik!**

'**A picture tells a thousand words'  
Ze vertellen jouw verhaal**

**Voor het licht ze verschroeit  
De collage nog niet af**

**Kijken we omhoog  
Voor een laatste moeizaam portret**

**De zon als jouw flits in onze ogen  
Je kamer blijft nu donker**

**Niet zelf de shoot  
Wel je laatste shot gekozen**

**Rust nu maar  
Voor altijd  
Ingekaderd in ons hart**


	2. That kind of week

**To my very own Angela, who wants all the juicy details.**

_That kind of week_

Daisy sighed as she stared at the last entry in her dairy, something she had kept ever since the Maluku-project. Of course, on the far end of the world, it had just been a scrappy notebook instead of her laptop, but the idea was the same.

It had started when some of the anthropologists from the project mentioned they did not only keep their professional journals, but also a more personal dairy to write down their findings, feelings and memories while away from home. Dr Brennan had mentioned she had had such a dairy -though she emphasized she wrote purely about her findings and not about something as trivial as her own emotions- on her first few digs, but no longer needed them through her exceptional memory. Daisy never considered herself as the journal-type -who was she kidding, she liked talking to much for that- but Dr Brennan's susceptibility to the idea had encouraged her to at least give it a go. Maybe it would help her with her over-sharing and social problems as well.

The first few days, weeks, she just wrote a few words, but over time, when the loneliness slowly started to gnaw at her, she would seclude herself in her tent, far away from the perceiving eyes of Dr Brennan, and she would write and cry, until everything was off her chest. She wrote about the most trivial things: about how she missed DC and her friends, about how much she missed Lancelot. She wrote about her doubts, her fears. Her deepest secrets. Eventually, she poured her soul in that scrappy notebook.

She had returned to DC months ago, and though the project had been an interesting step in her career, despite the lack of any significant findings, she was glad to be back. It had also softened the fact she had been denied a job at a prestigious facility due to a lack of credentials. Something Dr Brennan had thought to be a very poor excuse since she was her grad student after all. Daisy's pride had stopped Dr Brennan from calling the company to complain. She knew she had still much to learn, and if this rejection meant working as Dr Brennan's grad student a while longer, she didn't see it as lost time.

She had missed DC, the hurling of the city, her morning Starbucks coffee, her friends and family. She had been afraid that things would be awkward between her and Lance after their -almost- marriage, but she had been pleasantly surprised they had just gone back to how they were before they were a couple, not the least of awkwardness between them.

At least, she had thought they did. Earlier this week however, he had asked her out for drinks with a few colleagues, something they did once every few weeks. She had already nearly said yes until he mentioned, Tessa, another therapist with the FBI, would be joining them too. She had quickly made up an excuse, through which he had seen immediately, but she couldn't care less, and he didn't confront her about it. Instead, he asked if he could still come over later, but she used the same excuse to cancel their appointment for that evening as well.

She had called her sister only a few minutes later, and they had gotten drunk that evening instead. No matter how hard she tried, and believe me, she had tried, she just couldn't make her like that young female therapist Lance was meeting tonight. Tessa McCallen was a blonde petite woman with a tongue like silk, and a natural talent of buttering people up. Especially married people. Daisy couldn't explain it, but the few times she had met the therapist, she had always seen her flirting with a married man. First an agent whose name she couldn't remember at the Hoover, than Dr Hodgins at a formal FBI-thing, and last but not least, with Lance, the week they became engaged. According to Daisy, this woman needed some counseling herself to find out why she was such a cheating disloyal immoral bitch who couldn't stay away from men who were out or her league. It didn't matter she and Lancelot weren't an 'item' anymore. She still cared about him, and she would net let someone like Tessa McCallen hurt him.

The next morning she had sent Lance a text, excusing herself for the night before, but he had just send a short message back, that had startled her. 'I'm at work. Can't talk right now.'

Maybe that should have warned her something wasn't right. Instead she just thought he was having a bad day or something. Even the best had one of those once in a while.

His call that following evening surprised her, and if she thought he would just except her apology and move on, she had another thing coming. Instead, the conversation took a whole other direction.

"Why didn't you join us Tuesday-night?"

"I just had to work late, I told you that already. Dr Brennan had some…"

"And you just remembered that after I dropped Tessa would be joining us?" He asked without letting her finish.

She was silent for a little while before she answered. "You know what I think of that woman."

"You sure that's all this is?" He asked, the psychologist in him getting the upper hand.

"Of course, what else could it be?" Daisy asked surprised. "I just hate the way she winds everyone around her little finger and…"

"But we are not together anymore, so why would you still be worried?" He interrupted her again.

Daisy sighed as if it was obvious. "It's not because we are not together anymore, that I don't care about you anymore. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Sure you weren't just jealous?" He asked with a slight smile in his words.

Daisy sighed. Her sister had asked her that exact same question too, and it had taken her al night and a lot of booze to convince her of the opposite. They had moved past that stage. Sure, she loved Lance, but…like a brother. A best friend. Nothing more; nothing less.

"You know I'm not."

"Do I? I know I would be. I mean, hell, we were engaged to be married. Those feelings don't just disappear. I mean, I don't know why I'm only telling you this now, but…I love you Daisy. I've never stopped loving you. Hell, I don't even know why I tried."

She had been to shocked to answer for a while, as she stared at the wall in front of her.

"Daisy?" He had eventually asked a little worried. Silence was the last thing he had expected from Daisy Wick.

"O Lance…I…I don't know what to say. I mean, I thought we both moved on after that. You said you wouldn't wait for me."

A trembling sigh could be heard through the line. "I know…I…tried…"

Again, silence took over.

"So, I guess _you _don't love _me _anymore?" He asked, like he just wanted to make it clear, to hear her say it in those exact words.

"Of course I do. I will always love you. You're one of my best friends. I just don't love you like that anymore."

Again, silence.

"Lance, please. I'm sorry."

"It's just weird, you know. I mean, I thought all this dancing around was leading us back to this. Well, not this obviously, but…You really didn't notice?"

"O Lance, you know how I am with people. If I had known I would have told you a lot sooner. I'm so sorry." She apologized again, but he didn't answer.

"It's okay." He said after a while, a mere whisper across the line.

"It's okay." He tried again, a little clearer this time. "I'll get over it. I have to go. I'll see you later."

And she just stood there, phone still in her hand, pressed to her ear, as he hung up on her. Shell-shocked.

That same night she had called her sister again, who advised her to at least give it a go if the idea of hurting him upset her so much. But Daisy couldn't help but feel selfish as she though about it. She would do it to safe their friendship, to not lose him altogether. But she wouldn't be happy. She wouldn't make him happy. Not really, at least. Because she had already felt love, and this was not it. She would give him hope. And it wouldn't be fair to him, because he would give everything of him, while she simply couldn't. Maybe it would work for a while, she would make it work for a while, but eventually they would break, and then things would be even more awkward than they already were.  
Yes, she though he was wildly attractive, and sweet, and caring, and funny, and all the other things she wanted in a man, but her cousin for example was all those things as well. And she loved him with all her heart as well. Just not like that. Not like the way he wanted her to.

The week had dragged on after that life-changing phone-call. She caught herself censoring her texts to him, reading them all a hundred times over, trying to sound normal, but leaving out her usual playful 'I love you' and 'sweet cheeks'. Eventually he had send her a text to ask her out for drinks that evening, telling her 'they had to talk'.  
So that was how she made her way to the founding fathers heavy hearted, already half-expecting what would be coming, and knowing she wouldn't like it…but couldn't change it either.

She had kissed and hugged him like she always did, but things felt different anyway. They carefully danced around the subject they were actually here to discuss and told each other about their weeks. A small smile graced Daisy's lips as she realized why he was such a good friend. He just really understood her like nobody else could. But they couldn't ignore his admission forever.

"I just need some time, Daisy." A deep sigh. "Time and space." He suddenly said softly, not really catching her eyes.

"What do you mean by space? Do you want me to sit on the other end of the table?" She had asked then, subconsciously doing the best literal impression of Dr Brennan until now.

"No Daisy. I mean…space. I mean not seeing you for a while, not talking or texting or anything like that, at least not like we're doing now. 'Cause this being with you, but not _with _you, is killing me here." He said, moving his hands frantically to prove his point. To distract her from the pain evident in his eyes.

Daisy nodded as she furiously tried to blink her tears away. "I'm sorry." She said. "I just don't want to lie to you."

She heard him swallow as she stared at the table. "I know. And someday I'll probably be thankful for that. But that day just isn't now."

She nodded as she pushed her chair back. No use in putting off the inevitable.

"I'll miss you Lancelot." She whispered as she stood, so silently he didn't know if she had said it, or he had simply imagined it. Her hand lingered on his shoulder as she past him one last time, the gesture as much torture for her as it was for him.

Daisy sighed as she closed her laptop, furiously blinking the threatening tears away as she remembered that evening. It had just been that kind of week.


End file.
